


Bad Plans and Good Intentions

by ComeHitherAshes



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Affectionate Punishment, Continuation of S01E06, Double Penetration, Established OT3, M/M, Multi, Spanking, Spit-roasting, The Exiles - Freeform, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-13
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-02-17 05:02:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2297498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComeHitherAshes/pseuds/ComeHitherAshes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aramis has always had delusions of grandeur about being the hero from tales of old, and he becomes that hero when he helps Agnes escape across the river. The thing about heroes, though, is that they can make some pretty stupid decisions. Fortunately for Aramis, he had two Musketeers hot on his heels who are all too happy to show him how much he means to them, and to put their hero back where he belongs - pinned between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Plans and Good Intentions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SirLancelotTheBrave](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirLancelotTheBrave/gifts).



> As I skipped an update on [The Dead Fencers' Society](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2184300/chapters/4781907) due to having the flu, have some smut! I was re-watching Musketeers in my blanket fort and, with OT3 on my mind, realised that Athos was a little snarkier, more cutting than usual in episode 6. This is what my head-canon wants to believe happened when they got home, when Athos had looked through the window to see an empty room and Aramis was off being the hero.
> 
> This is also a gift to SirLancelotTheBrave who has been writing me so much fluff'n'smut and sending me gifs of the boys to cheer me up. She's amazing, and has even posted some of those fics, go check 'em out!

  
Aramis gave a happy sigh, feeling lighter than he had in months. Today had been one of those rarest of days, like a jewelled butterfly or finding the last bottle of wine.

Today had been a good day.

It hadn't started off well, admittedly. Sending Constance in as a wet nurse wasn't one of d'Artagnan's best plans, but he didn't deny that the boy had style. Teaching Constance how to hold a rapier might have saved his and baby Henry's lives today.

Something that he had risked by running out with Agnes, convinced that he could shoulder the task alone, like a fool.

"I do love it when a plan comes together," he said with a bright grin as they waved d'Artagnan off for the night and he dug in his pockets for the key to his lodgings.

Athos simply leaned against the wall beside his door and raised an eyebrow, and whether it was to disagree with him or to hurry him up, Aramis wasn't sure. Athos looked the picture of nonchalance, though, not at all fazed by the day's events – neither exhausted nor ecstatic.

It was mildly concerning, as if a very large wave was looming down on him for some reason.

Porthos, however, made his feelings very clear, and they were coupled with streaks of smoke on his cheeks from where he had thrown the brandy onto the fire; it made him look slightly wild, an added sense of  _barbare_ to his reckless attitude. "What fuckin' plan?!"

Aramis rolled his eyes and pushed his way into his house, leading the way for Athos to follow and Porthos to close the front door. It did so with a satisfying thud, locking out the world and all of the day's ills.

"I have to agree with Porthos," Athos drawled as they headed upstairs to his rooms, apparently bringing some of those grievances with him. "And if there was any semblance of a plan, it was mine."

Aramis threw a wounded look over his shoulder only to see the two of them discussing something silently, and when they noticed him looking, they both frowned.

That looming wave suddenly seemed coupled with a very large, immovable mountain.

"Forgive me if I thought today went well," he announced airily, choosing to ignore them in favour of leaning against the wall to pull off his boots.

There was a beat of silence and, with hindsight, he knew that Athos and Porthos had shared a look. Almost immediately, Athos crowded him against the wall, pinning his shoulders back with firm hands and quoted, "Well?"

It was one word, one simple word, and yet the dire warning in Athos' husky tone and the unimpressed look in his eye was enough to send a bolt of heat directly along Aramis' spine. He twitched, ever so slightly, acutely aware that he had done something wrong today and he was about to pay the price for it.

He had risked his life, and they were _not_ happy with him.

Athos leaned forward, his gaze rooting Aramis to the spot even if he had been able to move. There was something ever so dangerous in those murky depths, a storm heralded by a wave, something raw and possessive and barely contained by the air of neutrality that Athos wielded like a weapon.

It was a whisper almost against his lips, "Well?"

Aramis inhaled harshly, lust a delicious sharpness in his abdomen. When he tried to lean forwards, to catch that whisper, Athos pulled back, his thumbs tracing gentle circles against Aramis' shoulders even as he held him tight against the wall.

The storm had him in its deft grip and it had no plans of letting him go.

Aramis' confident charm left in a rush, and that was when Athos shook his head and tutted.

Athos tugged at his shoulders and then he was spun around, his back slamming into Porthos' chest as heavy hands landed compellingly on his hips. It was a punishing grip but not painful, never painful, only serving to send glorious waves of anticipation through every muscle.

He jerked instinctively when Porthos' breath burned his ear. "You've got a pretty head, Aramis, but you don't half 'ave some shit ideas."

His laugh was an indignant gasp as he tried to get Porthos to bite him, but was denied with a snort. "It wasn't terrible."

"It was suicidal," Athos corrected as he watched them both, arms crossed and expression blank.

He arched, trying to summon Athos closer, trying to incite that heady moment where Athos couldn't restrain himself any longer and a hoarse cry tore from his throat.

Porthos chuckled, knowing his intentions all too well, but then he was forced onto tip-toe as Porthos' leg pushed between his thighs, rising upwards to rest snugly against his crotch. "You don't get what you want, y'know why?"

He shook his head and tried to grind along Porthos' leg, but heavy fingers held him still and petted him when he struggled.

Trapped between the wave and the mountain, his sanity was being crashed upon.

"Because you make terrible decisions,  _mon ami_ ," Athos remarked, but his gaze tracked fire over Aramis' bared stomach. Aramis deliberately stretched, pulling his jacket up as he fumbled for the ties. Athos frowned, his expression clearly ordering,  _stop_.

He did, if only to make Athos' lip tilt ever so slightly into a smile. Athos cleared it when Aramis grinned a little too triumphantly, and stalked forwards with a threat in every step. Delighted fear flickered at the base of his spine as he pushed back into Porthos to escape Athos' judgement, toes almost slipping as he settled on Porthos' leg.

Poking the hornets' nest was a brilliant idea, especially when four stings scored his chest as Athos dragged his nails down his collarbone. His hips shifted as he cried out and Porthos growled a reprimand for moving, "Wriggly little fucker."

Brusque fingers started undoing his jacket, and once he had shaken it off and thrown his shirt aside, Athos grabbed both of his wrists and said lowly, "Maybe we should do something about that."

Porthos weighed his head to the side, bringing his mouth almost against Aramis' ear to make him shiver. "He did run out on us earlier, seems he needs restrainin'."

"Or a leash," Athos murmured matter-of-factly. Every one of Aramis' muscles clenched, his whole body jerked and then Porthos' teeth closed on his ear in a spark of pain.

He writhed, trying to untangle his wrists from Athos' grip to pull him closer, trying to rub against Porthos' leg but, between them, they held him immobile. It only made the desire surge higher, a keening noise escaping his throat.

"Think 'e wants that," Porthos rumbled, and licked the marks he had made, warmth intermingling with the pain as Aramis' ear throbbed with heat.

"I think he  _needs_  that," Athos corrected quietly, his thumbs making small movements over the inside of his wrists, somewhere between feather-light and forceful. It was a surprisingly erotic zone when he found his arms twitching helplessly.

Aramis was stunned into stillness even when Athos released him, because Athos reached up to tug at the thin scarf around his neck, revealing the suck mark Aramis had made earlier when d'Artagnan wasn't looking. Something very small and scalding hot flared into existence in his stomach, and on that same suicidal instinct that had gotten him into this, he lunged for Athos.

Porthos' grip had slackened as he watched Athos fiddle with his scarf and Aramis tore out of it. He had just enough time to place his hands either side of Athos' neck and drag him close, their mouths crashing almost painfully as he sucked on Athos' lip.

Athos groaned as he kissed him back, and Aramis felt victory in the taste of Athos' tongue. There was a whisper of sensation against his wrists where they almost rested against Athos' collarbone and then it tightened. Aramis blinked in surprise and saw amused murky eyes telling him that he'd been had.

"Wha--" He had enough time to see Athos' scarf wound around his wrists, and then he was yanked backwards onto Porthos' leg again. Porthos' teeth sank into his jugular and his breathless laugh peaked into a cry.

Porthos didn't let him go as Athos surveyed his handiwork, tightening the knot almost as an after-thought. Aramis' chest heaved, feeling Porthos' jacket rubbing against his bare back, and Athos wound the extra length of scarf around his fingers.

It looked exactly like a leash.

Aramis shivered and Athos tugged sharply, the smooth fabric stinging his wrists – a reminder of his restraint. "Even if this plan of yours had worked, did you think we wouldn't find out?"

Porthos sucked the bite mark, sending spirals of heat along his neck, another reminder even as Porthos' thumbs dug into his hips. "D'you think we would've been alright with what you did?"

"I had good intentions," he hissed when Porthos' leg finally rocked between his thighs, sending dizzying friction against his cock.

Porthos stopped, to Aramis' barely restrained cry of disappointment, and looked at Athos. "You hear that? He says he 'ad good intentions."

Athos placed a fingertip on top of Aramis' shoulder and dragged it with torturous slowness along his neck, tracing his bitten jugular to finally grip his chin. "Good intentions do not mean good plans, Aramis." It was an ominous whisper, and it prompted him to gulp nervously, forced him to explain.

"I just wanted them to be happy."

Athos' grip tightened, edging on too hard as he hissed against his lips, "You could have  _died_."

"Better me--"

"Don't," Athos demanded, a genuine threat in his vicious tone. "Don't you dare finish that sentence."

Lust was a lazy river through his veins, but when his wrists burned and his hips bruised, he realised with a start that there really was something dangerous at work here. He tried to back into Porthos, wary of the protective rage in Athos' eyes, but when he heard a low rumble of a warning, the sort a tiger gave its prey, Aramis froze.

He had risked his life today. They were furious with him, and here he was trapped between them, leashed by fingers and a scarf.

His heartbeat rocketed, and he wasn't sure whether it was with adrenaline or arousal. He felt the urge to run quiver in his feet, and as if they knew, Athos smirked and Porthos chuckled, a menacing sound against the sensitive skin of his neck.

"You don't understand, Aramis, you never understood," Athos said with deceptive softness, his grip gentling, fingers smoothing over his jaw. Aramis wasn't fooled for a second; this was just the calm before the true storm.

Porthos placed soft kisses along Aramis' shoulder and every single one made him shake in anxious expectation. "Always tryna be the hero."

"Is that so wrong?" he asked, and knew his voice was too high-pitched, too revealing of the tantalising thread of fear skittering across his bones.

Athos' fingers dropped to the mark Porthos had made, and when Porthos bit his shoulder, Athos drove his thumb into the bruise and snapped, "Yes, when it puts your life on the line."

He cried out and Porthos muttered against his flushed skin, "When you try to do it without us."

"I'm sorry," he whispered, and the words were torn from his heart, knowing that every beat pumped solely for them.

"No," Athos murmured and Aramis shivered at the sound, layered as it was with a dark promise. "But you will be."

His mind blanked, his thoughts were just so much lust-fuelled light. Athos' nails against his jaw shouldn't have made desire spiral through his veins, Porthos' hard length against his back shouldn't have made him shift in restless want.

But they did, and they knew it.

They weren't going to let him off that easy.

That shouldn't have made his breathing quicken eagerly until he thought he might pass out.

Athos trailed a hand down his chest, letting it skirt just above his breeches before sweeping away again, getting closer and closer until Aramis was fidgeting outrageously. Athos paused at the closest point, his fingers bare millimetres away from Aramis' straining cock. "Did you stop to think what it would do to us?"

Athos tapped his fingers against his sensitised skin to make him mutter pleas in Spanish. They shouldn't have known what they were, but he'd said them enough times that he felt the arousal wash over them both.

"You'd break us, Aramis," Porthos' gruff words rang with damning truth, bringing the situation back under control before they succumbed to his pleas and gave him what he wanted. "It'd crack us open an' leave us bleedin'."

"Is that what you want, Aramis?" Athos asked with a rough quality to his voice, as if he was only just holding himself back.

"No! No, of course not," he panted desperately, and when he tried to jut his hips forward to make Athos' hand lower, Athos pulled back completely. "Please," he called, uncaring if it sounded like a whimper, uncaring when he just wanted to be _touched_. "Don't do this."

Athos' amusement dropped away, and Aramis felt it like a gust of cold wind against his swiftly heating skin.

"You left," Athos whispered, and something agonised roared in his stormy eyes, something that stopped Aramis still and made him feverishly think over the day. "I went to check on you, and you had gone."

"With Agnes an' the baby," Porthos added quietly, that same agony in his voice. It was an agony that told him they thought that he had left, forever.

To play happy little families.

Aramis' arousal disappeared and he found his chest twisting in a desperate urge to reach out and reassure them, to burrow between them both and admit that he had been a fool, that he loved them, that…

"I didn't mean to worry you."  _I didn't mean to leave you._

The look on Athos' face told him that worry was oceans away from how distressed they had been.

Aramis put himself in their shoes, considered how he would feel if Porthos had wandered off with Flea when they had gone to fetch him, if Athos had joined Comtesse de Larroque when she had left Paris.

Sickness roiled like an angry sea in his stomach at even the thought of losing one of them. It had been the three of them for so long, through thick and thin, and ups and downs, always three. Yes, they had roamed occasionally, flirting with feminine flesh – sometimes together – but it had only ever been diversion.

It wasn't…

Athos stepped closer, pinning him between them, and he felt their heartbeats thump in time with his, as if they were trying to make him  _see_ something.

It wasn't  _this._

It wasn't coming home – and home was wherever they were. It wasn't sleeping entwined in dark and pale limbs. It wasn't this complete perfection that made something bright and deliriously happy flutter like a phoenix in his chest.

He had let them think that it wasn't any of that, that he didn't  _care_. He had taken of their protective love for so long and then he had left. He had let the fire slumber into longing, restless ashes.

Athos' finger softly traced Aramis' lip and he couldn't bear the remembered desolation marking his lover's face, a face already marked with nightmares and heartbreak, and he had added to that.

Hurting them was akin to hurting himself a thousand times over, and it felt like a knife in his own heart.

Porthos held him close as Athos brushed his lip again, and Aramis felt the connection between them like a rope of golden light. It was still there, and it was  _theirs_.

He felt the ashes kindle into a fire and with it came a realisation so strong that it almost rocked him. He would never walk through the flames for them, only because they would follow him in and drag him out, cursing him all the way. Instead, they harnessed the heat, let it spark between them like a bonfire they tended as a trio.

Together.

Aramis met Athos' eye when a pale finger made another trip across his lip, and then he opened his mouth and sucked it in, relishing the strangled noise that came from Athos' throat.

"Aramis," Porthos breathed, a relieved word caressed his neck as they both read his intentions and found them good. "There you are."

"I came back," he whispered when he let Athos' finger go with a nip.

"To where you belong," Athos said, a command as much as it was a statement, and the fire flared higher.

Aramis licked his lips and let his eyes trail down Athos' body, dragging them back up as he rocked against Porthos, drawing a hitch in two sets of breathing. "Yes."

Athos immediately pulled at the scarf and Aramis would have stumbled forward had Porthos' fingers not been holding his hips so tightly against him. It meant that he leaned forwards from the waist, his shoulders caught by one of Athos' hands as the other went to the breeches that were only a few inches from Aramis' face.

Trapped between them, leashed by fingers and a scarf, and he never wanted to be anywhere else.

Arousal shot through him when he felt Porthos' hands move from his hips, and he shifted shamelessly when Porthos tugged both of their breeches down and he felt a hot length fit neatly against his arse.

"Think 'e wants to apologise," Porthos said, the words barely discernible through his desire-roughened voice.

"He already did," Athos added, a softness to his tone threaded through the huskiness. Deft fingers tangled into Aramis' curls, gentle at first, but then tugging hard. "I'll accept another, though."

Porthos laughed when Aramis shivered, and then a heavy hand smoothed over his back, making him arch. It was then that Athos palmed his own cock, the head ever so close to Aramis' lips. It was a taunt and a tease in one, because Aramis  _hungered_ , but if he moved too soon, Athos would know that he wanted to do this a little too much.

He was meant to be sorry, wasn't he?

And he was, so very much, but he also desperately wanted to taste the liquid that had started to coat Athos' cock.

He knew it tasted like the richest of red wines.

There was a faint sloshing noise, as if a bottle had been popped, and it was a noise that sent sparks of mindless lust behind his eyelids, a learned response of so many years and so many moments.

He was completely naked, bent over between them, and they were both still completely clothed.

Had he been any other man, he might have shied away, instead his smile was a hungry smirk as he lifted his bound wrists and captured Athos' cock between his fingers.

Athos jerked, his grip tightening in Aramis' hair. "Oh, I'm going to enjoy this."

Porthos' slick hand slipped along his arse and, with nothing more than a warning squeeze on his hip, Porthos thrust his finger inside of him. Aramis cried out in delight, palming Athos as he did so, and Porthos chuckled, "He's a sight, ain't 'e?"

"He is," Athos murmured, that same dichotomy of fondness and command in his tone as he stroked through his curls. "I want to fuck him until he can't walk away from us again.

Aramis' smile at being complimented as if he wasn't there fell into a gasp of desire, of _surprise_ at hearing Athos talk so basely, and then Athos tugged his head forward until his cock slotted neatly into Aramis' mouth. It was instinct that took over and Aramis sucked, moaning when Athos did.

Flavour burst against his tongue and he licked a path along heated flesh, savouring the taste of France's greatest vintage, and all for him.

"Share," Porthos growled, and Athos' amused laugh might have turned him on more than anything else had today.

Aramis had about a second to let that word filter through his haze of arousal, and then the slippery head of Porthos' cock nudged against his entrance, replacing his fingers far sooner than they should - but impatience was a mind-altering drug and Aramis wanted the burn. Porthos pushing into him pushed him further onto Athos and their hoarse curses were like trophies to Aramis' ears.

Pained pleasure rushed through him like a wave, all-encompassing and powerful, and through it all he was aware of their hands on his skin, holding him, restraining him,  _reminding_ him.

He was theirs.

They both stilled, dragging in harsh breaths, letting him acclimatise. He didn't need it, lust had coated every nerve-ending and he all he wanted was to  _move,_ to feel the sting and feel it for hours. So he did, he swayed forward and back again, earning a groan from Porthos. "Christ, Aramis, s'like you were designed by fuckin' angels."

Athos' other hand smoothed over the back of Aramis' neck, a reassuring weight but one that didn't let him move as he wanted to. Athos was making him wait. "He  _is_ an angel, a very, very good one."

Aramis' smile was stupidly happy even as his eyes rolled back from Athos' sharp tug on his hair when he thrust forward. Athos' cock bumped the back of his throat, just for a moment, and Athos hissed in pleasure when he pursed his lips as he pulled back.

He was ever so wonderfully used to this, and Porthos grunted when Aramis clenched, deliberately trying to provoke him into moving. He  _wanted_ , but they wouldn't let him have.

"Greedy bugger," Porthos growled, and dragged a thumb down his spine to make him shiver. He could feel Porthos' breeches against his bare legs, and Athos' against his hands. It felt wonderfully  _wrong_ to be the only one not wearing anything.

Humiliation was a delighted flush across his skin.

"Sometimes," Athos started, and he  _heard_ Athos smirk when Aramis shuddered in anticipation, "I think Aramis forgets what he already has."

"D'ya think he needs another reminder?" Porthos replied, getting into the spirit of the game with far more patience than Aramis wanted right now. Normally he could rely on Porthos to be as keen as he was, Athos was the one with the infuriating neutrality.

Athos hummed in agreement, pulling one of Aramis' curls in fond reprimand when he hummed too, knowing the noise would vibrate. "Yes, and a punishment, too."

"'Course, why not both?"

"Why not, indeed?" Athos murmured, and Aramis frantically tried to ascertain what they were talking about, knowing full well that they were signalling each other over his back.

Expectation was a quiver in his knees, but then Porthos' hands were there at his hips, holding him steady. One slipped downwards to cup his ass, and then it disappeared.

He realised just as Porthos' hand reached its apex.

Heat bloomed in the shape of heavy fingers, and then it exploded through him, jerking him forward onto tip-toes.

Athos tutted, and the sound shouldn't have been so erotic. "You know you mustn't shirk from punishment, Aramis."

Porthos' hand soothed the sting, and somehow it made the second one even hotter, as if it scalded. Aramis keened in his throat, earning a pleased noise from Athos, and Porthos rocked against him in reward.

"Much better," Porthos rumbled, smoothing over what would no doubt be a visible hand-print tomorrow.

"You'll feel that burn all day tomorrow," Athos commented, and it would have been matter-of-fact if there hadn't been a huskiness to his voice. "Maybe I'll insist we go for a ride."

"Yeah." Porthos bent forward, his shirt brushing along Aramis' back as he whispered, "An' maybe I'll check it's still there when we stop for water, an' if you've been givin' me any lip, I might just push you against a tree an'--" Porthos hand stung against his arse again, but Aramis had been expecting it, even if he had broken out in delighted goosebumps.

Porthos was nothing if not predictable.

But they didn't normally do  _this_ , this stinging heat that made him shiver. Yes, they might sneak kisses in the woods, and once they had pinned him in the lake when he had been bathing, but they hadn't  _spanked_ him before.

He had a feeling that they wouldn't do it again, he was enjoying it too much, and the evidence was a little too obvious.

Porthos' warm hand reached around and palmed him, snorting a laugh as he did. "Flirt. S'meant to be a punishment."

Aramis pushed against Athos' thighs to give him some breathing room and chuckled, "I'm  _really_ not enjoying myself." He returned his attention to Athos' cock and licked a line along the underside, grinning when Athos simultaneously petted and pulled on his hair.

Porthos, with one palm on Aramis' cock, pulled all the way out and thrust back in again, sending sparks inside Aramis' eyelids.

"I think," Athos panted, "Aramis has learned his lesson."

Aramis nodded as he sucked a bead of liquid that tasted ever so heady.

Porthos' reply was a grunted, "Yeah? What was it, Aramis?"

Their grips gentled now, encouraging, prompting him to say the right thing, so naturally Aramis nibbled his lip and tested his luck. "To not go anywhere without telling you?"

Porthos' other hand landed in a ringing slap on the other side of his arse. "To not be an idiot."

"To not be an idiot," he repeated dutifully, smiling when Porthos kissed his spine as the tingles faded.

"That we are three parts of a whole," Athos murmured, and they both repeated it, because Athos was right.

Aramis had worried them today, but never again. They were too important to him, and he to them, and they were inseparable. It just so happened that, sometimes, one of them needed a reminder.

He quite liked his reminder.

"Don't even  _think_ about actin' out jus' to make me do that again, Aramis," Porthos warned. "This was a treat."

"I thought it was a punishment?" Athos asked idly, as if he was completely unaffected by the way Aramis had fisted a palm around his cock.

"It was certainly something," Aramis drawled, and it was the final spark that turned the fire into a raging blaze.

"Tease," Porthos growled, and pulled out to thrust back in again, chuckling when Aramis cried out in delight and hungrily reached for Athos. "Guess we're givin' him what he wants then?"

"Don't we always?" Was Athos' breathy reply, and Aramis grinned as he took Athos into his mouth.

They did, and it was always them that he wanted.

Porthos' steady rhythm was far too slow, even as he fisted his hand around Aramis' cock. Aramis was very used to being in between them though, he knew exactly when to tense, when to suck, when to best exert himself to hit their peaks.

Porthos brushed against something that had him keening. "Now, if there's one thing Aramis said that might be true, s'that a plan  _comes together._ "

Athos actually paused to stare at Porthos' terrible joke, and might have stopped forever had Aramis not leaned forward and taken Athos to the hilt, his lips brushing pale skin as he worked his throat muscles. Athos shuddered, his sardonic retort forgotten, and Aramis allowed himself another smile.

He could play them like pianos, and the music they made was gorgeous.

Or perhaps he was the one being played, because they both seemed perfectly in sync as Porthos stroked him into oblivion and Athos drove his fingers through his hair, his peak a cresting wave that consumed him whole. His cry was muffled as his body arched like a bow, and when it snapped, Athos was there with him, red wine pouring down Aramis' throat as he came.

On pure instinct, he knew just when to rock backwards to push Porthos over the edge, heavy fingers squeezing his hips as Porthos drove into him and had him quaking with aftershocks, fresh bruises mingling with the simmering handprint and the burn around his wrists.

Porthos almost fell against his back, but then Athos was there to lift him up and they both fell against Porthos' chest. Aramis was sweaty and naked between them, and he was exactly where he was meant to be.

Athos' fingers untied his scarf as he stole a kiss, grimacing at the taste of himself on Aramis' lips. Porthos took one instead, and made a delighted noise at the find, his tongue licking against Aramis' to try and taste more.

A wry smile graced Athos' mouth as he nudged Aramis' cheek with his nose, a rare sign of affection that made them all smile as they settled against each other with satisfied sighs.

Afterglow was a wonderful thing.

Aramis collapsed into bed first, infinitely grateful for the stupidly large bed they had moved here in pieces. By the time Athos and Porthos had undressed – and squabbled over the water bucket to clean themselves off – Aramis was already half asleep.

There was a coolness against his skin, soft kisses against his wrists, their amused whispers as they realised he was dozing, and then they slid in either side of him, where they were meant to be.

They lay contentedly in the sweaty silence that followed, happy and satiated, until Aramis sat bolt upright, all sleepiness forgotten as he glowered at them both.

"You genuinely thought I would leave you?" he cried indignantly, but was suddenly dragged back down to the bed by an arm from either side of him.

"Shut up," Porthos mumbled, and Athos hummed an agreement as they pinned him down by their arms, one dark and one pale over his chest.

It wasn't an adequate answer, but neither was his an adequate apology, not really.

So, in order to be fully apologetic, of course, Aramis let his hands wander down their stomachs, taking his time as his fingers trailed along hard muscles until they reached something harder and infinitely hotter.

As if they had planned it – and they had probably locked eyes with each other over his head – they both placed a firm grip around his wrists at the same time.

"Aramis," came the dual warning, one lyrically husky and the other a growled endearment.

"I have good intentions,  _mes chers_ , I promise," he murmured cheekily, and moaned a laugh when heavy fingers closed around his cock as defter ones tangled in his hair.

"Well, whaddya know," Porthos rumbled, a groan escaping as Aramis' own hands curled greedily and pumped, connecting the three of them once again.

"Aramis has a good plan, for once," Athos drawled, and hissed when Aramis ran a thumb along slick slits and gave one slow stroke.

"I'll have you know," Aramis said slyly as they both arched under his hands like his perfect instruments, "that I am full of good plans."

Their wholehearted agreements were lost in their hoarse cries, and Aramis smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> I've never done a continuation or any sort of canonical AU type thing before, so please let me know if you liked it!
> 
> Pop over to my [Tumblr](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/), it has an Ask feature if you have any prompts or simply want to chat. I post tiny drabbles and write rambling comments on gifs, be happy to have you!


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